


Lord Protector

by FernDavant



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 16:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3817138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FernDavant/pseuds/FernDavant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The evolving relationship of Corvo and Jessamine. Most likely a one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lord Protector

Jessamine fidgeted with her dress, only to incur a sharp glare from her father. For a moment she wanted to stick her tongue out at him, but she quieted that thought. She was twelve now, no longer a child as all of her tutors and servants constantly seemed to remind her. And on this day, the weight of her age seemed all the heavier. Today began a long string of ceremonies leading to when she would choose her royal protector.

Jessamine still felt like fidgeting, sitting at a high table in a banquet room with her father to her lefthand side. Her eyes darted to the right. The chair where her mother would sit lay empty. It had been a year since she had died, but at times like these, when her nerves threatened to overtake her, Jessamine wished she could reach over as in times of old. Her mother would squeeze her hand and whisper a few words, and her heart would still. Her father was a kind man, but he favored few physical displays of affection other than perhaps a good night kiss.

Jessamine darted her eyes away from the empty chair, in time to see her father staring at her.

“Soon, your Lord Protector will sit there,” her father inclined his head to where Felix, his protector sat next to him. Felix was always silent as the grave, his sharp gray eyes missing nothing, however. “And you will be able to trust him and confide in him.”

“It’s not the same,” Jessamine said, her voice coming out as more of a whine than she had intended.

“I know,” her father whispered kindly. “I miss her too.”

Jessamine sighed and took the opportunity to stare at the milling crowd of party-goers. She spotted Parliamentarians and nobles and military men and women, laughing and cavorting. Half of what they said were probably lies and the other half inane.

“You will one day enjoy these affairs very much,” her matron had told her as she had helped Jessamine dress earlier that night.

“Never,” Jessamine said. “Never.”

Suddenly there was noise and a call for silence. A courier appeared, and with much fanfare he began announcing the candidates for Lord Protector.

There were thirty of them, men (and a few women as a show of how forward-thinking the country was becoming in this age of fast-moving science) of various standing. They represented the nobility, military, navy, tower guards, and even city guards. Each candidate wore a white rose pinned to their breast, making them instantly recognizable. Part of the way that one ensured the post of royal protector involved mingling with the higher-ups and lobbying for the position. Tomorrow physical trials would start: running, boxing, wrestling, the firing of guns and cross bows, the duels of swords, even an archaic (and ridiculous!) joust. The candidates would then be whittled down to twelve (one for each year that Jessamine had lived) and more intellectual tests would begin. And each night, a ball.

Jessamine scanned the faces of the men and women before her, playing a game and seeing how many important people she could spot, the faces and names that her tutors drilled into her in her studies. Her eyes stopped as she spotted someone she did not expect.

“The Gift?” she murmured questioningly.

Her voice was not quiet enough to escape her father’s sharp ears. “Hush. Don’t call him that.”

“What is he doing here?”

“He was highly recommended by the Tower regiments. Plus, his nomination will do much to please the Duke of Sarkanos.”

Jessamine’s eyes did not move from the man, whose name she could not remember. She only knew him as The Gift, the man that the Duke of Sarkanos had _given_ her father as part of a naval treaty. She had had to stifle a laugh at the time at the absurdity of being given a person as so much chattel in a treaty, but her father later explained that those who served the duchy of Sarkanos were considered property of the state, their lives devoted only to the country, and the man that had been awarded to Gristol was apparently one of their best, brightest, and most skilled officers.

“What’s his name again?” Jessamine asked her father.

“Attano. And stop whispering, it’s not dignified.”

Yes, Attano. Corvo Attano if she remembered correctly.

She examined him more closely now. They had last met, what, maybe 2 years ago? But he already seemed much changed. When they had first met his face had a rounded boyishness too it, smooth and hairless. Now his face was more square, stubble peppering his jaw. He was lithe, but his muscles seemed more pronounced, his shoulders squarer. He also seemed taller—indeed, he was much taller than any of the other candidates.

He stood out. He was the youngest of the assembled—most of the candidates were between 25 and 35.  Others had finer clothes—and in fact, it appeared Corvo was dressed in merely a standard issue Royal Guardsman outfit of dull, black, and impossibly itchy wool rather than any of the hand tailored suits or official regalia the others candidates wore—but he stood out the most, elicited the most whispers, and had the most eyes on him. His olive skin and long-hair (the style in Sarkanos) marked him as foreign, and she could already sense the wheels of Gristol’s excellent gossip mill, churning.

He was…strange. He made Jessamine feel strange. But she liked strange things, and when the time came for her and her father to mill around the party and meet with the candidates, Jessamine made a beeline to Corvo.

“Hello,” she said.

Corvo merely bowed and kissed her hand. He said no other words to her that night.

The other candidates were cloying, overly complimentary, and overly sweet. They treated Jessamine as a child, not as a future empress.

Corvo instantly became her favorite candidate.

 ~~~

Corvo was the fastest, strongest, smartest of all the candidates. The trials had proven that Corvo would make an excellent lord protector. However, no one expected him to achieve the title.

Although ostensibly Jessamine’s choice, recommendations for the lord protector were offered to her by her father, privy council, parliament, tutors, and even some of her servants. Corvo was never among the recommended.

When she had delicately tried to broach the subject to ask what others thought of Corvo, she was shot down with a volley of excuses: he’s too young, he’s too foreign, he’s not of fine birth, he has poor manners, he does not converse with others.

The last two were true. Corvo barely said two words to anyone and frequently committed courtly faux pas, failing to bow or nod to someone and never averting his eyes when spoken to by higher nobility. In fact, Corvo constantly, unnervingly, maintained eye contact with everyone who spoke to him.

Jessamine did not care. A lord protector was not there to be well-mannered and chatty. What was he to do, bow deeply to an assassin and say, “I see that you are trying to assassinate the young Miss. Please remember to use the salad fork and not the entrée fork when you do!”

In terms of guaranteeing protection, Corvo himself was the most apt candidate.

She told no one but her father that she was going to choose Corvo, and even then she left the revelation to the evening before the announcement. He had tried to talk her out of it.

In hind sight, he probably knew her better than she could ever know herself when he said, “You shouldn’t make judgments on the future of the Empire based on a case of puppy love.”

She didn’t listen. (Her judgment, luckily, turned out sound anyway).

 ~~~

From the moment she woke up until the moment she retired to bed, Corvo spent every moment with Jessamine. Her father said their relationship was overly intimate. Felix called Corvo paranoid. Both of their complaints were silenced when a noble tried to knife the emperor and Corvo had the situation defused before Felix was even aware that anything was wrong.

Corvo seemed to enjoy spending time with Jessamine (even if he was a bit paranoid about her protection). Hell, he even seemed to enjoy Jessa’s lessons, eager to learn more about local history and politics, and willing to help in the subject’s Jessa most struggled with—art and mathematics. It was strange watching someone so dark and forboding delicately placing the finishing touches to a watercolor landscape of Wrenhaven River as viewed from the Tower. The picture had been so good that Mademoiselle Poisson, pleased with “Jessamine’s” vast improvement, declared that art lessons were no longer necessary.

Yes, Jessa still had a rebellious, head-strong streak in her, but Corvo tempered this, alternately indulging her schemes and reining her back in when she had gone too far. ( _Whenever would the safety of your kingdom come down to whether or not you could do a watercolor? Besides, I like painting. But you stop being late for your history class with Thompson. He will not “Just leave” if you make him wait long enough. You’re confusing Thompson’s behavior with yours)._

As they had got to know each other, Corvo had also proven to be a surprisingly good conversationalist. He was witty and observant. Many times Jessamine would be left giggling uncontrollably as Corvo whispered a biting, sarcastic remark into her ear about a pretentious nobleman or a priggish parliamentarian. Jessa discovered that Corvo was not quiet because he was stupid: he was quiet because he was too damn smart for his own good.

All in all, Corvo proved himself an excellent lord protector for an adolescent. If only everything were so easy.

 ~~~

When she was 15, she realized she was in love with Corvo.

When she came to this realization, Jessamine did what every romance novel she had ever read would advise; she tried to seduce him.

Her advances were extremely clumsy. She tried to stand closer to him when they walked, only to bump into him and nearly trip them both; she tried to “innocently” touch him frequently during the day, only to end up dropping and breaking things as she lost track of her hands; she tried to come onto him with double entendres, only to have them fly over his head, even as her single entendres unintentionally made them both blush.

Her one (partial) success was her effort to get him to call her Jessamine or Jessa. He was still more likely to call her “m’lady” or “your majesty,” but having him _sometimes_ call her by her given name was better than having him never do so.

She thought, tentatively, that perhaps the feelings were reciprocated. She noticed that he was staring at her when she wasn’t looking, and not in the sharp-eyed way he looked when he was planning security measures for an event, but an entirely different way that made her stomach do flips. He sat closer to her, _his_ touches seemed to linger, and he held her hand more frequently, even when he was not serving as an escort—even as they were walking in private. And when his hand wasn’t holding hers, it was hovering along the small of her back, protective, gentle. At the last ball, he had even accepted her offer to dance, which was saying something, because Corvo was terrible at dancing, and the following weeks all the court gossip was about how Corvo was a poor Sarkonan if he could not dance as well as his people’s reputation implied.

The whole farce lasted until she was 17. Her relationship with Corvo was beginning to drive her insane. Every day, it seemed, she moved further into adulthood. Her father grew more and more ill and she found herself bearing more and more of the responsibilities of the state. And yet, her relationship with Corvo left her feeling like a child.

One night, as they sat in the library—her reading a sheaf of parliamentary petitions against a new tax law and he a memoir of the emperor previous to her father—she frustratedly put down her ink pen, looked up, and asked, “Corvo, what do you think of me?”

Corvo put the book down, and raised an eyebrow, “M’lady?”

“Jessamine,” she corrected.

“Jessamine,” Corvo parroted apologetically, inclining his head a bit towards her. “What do you mean by the question, Jessamine?”

“I just—“Jessamine closed her eyes and pinched the temple of her nose, “I just wonder what you think of me as a person. As a woman.”

Corvo, still obviously confused by the question, nonetheless tried to answer, stumbling on his words, “I think that you are intelligent. I think that you are…regal. I think that you are—will be—an incredible Empress. I think you are a charming, excellent young…woman.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Jessamine asked, and then immediately regretted it. She sounded petulant.

Corvo broke eye contact uncharacteristically, “I think. Well. Yes.”

“Are you lying?” Jessamine asked, uncertain at Corvo’s inability to look her in the eye.

“No,” Corvo responded, his gaze snapping back to hers, his tone so assured that Jessamine was almost ashamed to have asked the question.

There was a moment of silence where they both stared at each other. It felt uncomfortably like Corvo was looking directly into her soul. It always felt that way. Jessamine looked away.

“Would you kiss me?” Jessamine asked.

“What, now?” Corvo replied. The brief expression of pain that flashed across his face was enough to show he regretted that he had not kept a closer rein on his tongue.

“Yes, now.”

“M’lady, I—“

“Do _not_ call me that while we are having this conversation.”

Corvvo’s face was a mask again, and when he spoke, he spoke clearly, every word over-enunciated. “And what conversation are we having exactly?”

Jessamine wanted to bury her face in her hands. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run away. She wanted to submit Corvo a formal request for commencement of an affair in triplicate. She wanted to disappear.

She did none of those things. Instead, she bit her lip and replied, “I rather think that I am confessing my love to you.”

Jessamine closed her eyes. She could not bear to look at Corvo. The seconds ticked away. He did not respond.

“I’m sorry,” Jessamine said after a while, moving to gather her things, “Please forget this. I’m sorry.”

“No, wait,” Corvo said, moving towards her, “It’s not that I don’t reciprocate—“

“You reciprocate?” Jessa asked, eyebrows arching.

Corvo grabbed her by the wrists and suddenly they were side-by-side. She was facing him.

“It’s just you are quite young—“

“In a year I will be crowned empress!”

“Compared to me! You are young compared to me”

“You are five years my senior. My father was 15 years older than my mother.”

“I just think it’s not quite wise,” Corvo interrupted. This time his tone was more firm, he gave her wrists a shake, and Jessamine was finally silenced for the moment.

“And we are _not_ talking marriage,” Corvo added sharply. “We could _never_ talk of marriage. I could never even be named your high consort, as it would disgrace the empire, the title of Lord Protector, and your rule. You cannot say you are not young and then try to tell me fairy tales.”

Jessamine gritted her teeth. He was right. He was impossibly, terribly right. But she didn’t care.

“Kiss me,” she said.

Corvo dropped her wrists and turned away. “I’m retiring. Tomorrow we will both have clearer minds.”

“Lord Protector, I order you to kiss me.”

Corvo froze. She’d never used that tone on him before. She hadn’t even fully grown into that tone. A few times she had tried it out, first at dinner parties to guests who tried to test their luck with the young Empress-to-be, and then later in small meetings of groups of three or four members of parliament lobbying for some cause or another that was, more often than not, quite distasteful. She had never used that tone with him before, but he had always treated everything she said as if it were said in that tone, with reverence, trust, and kindness. She had never used that tone with him before, and she had never had to. But now her words were like weapons. She commanded.

“Your majesty,” his tone was neutral, “I beg you to reconsider.”

Jessamine was aware that she was being extraordinarily petulant. She didn’t care.

“Kiss me and then talk to me about reciprocation and consorts and fairy tales.”

“If you do this—“ Corvo began.

“Do not disobey me.”

Corvo turned his head from her, sighed, then reached out with his hand, cupping her cheek, his hand calloused. He bent towards her. Jessamine’s eyes fluttered close as Corvo’s lips pressed against hers.

The kiss is impossibly chaste, infuriatingly so. He pulled back quickly,refusing her gaze.

“Goodnight, your majesty,” Corvo said, bowing low, before rushing from the library.

It is the first time Corvo is not there to wish her good night since she had chosen him as Lord Protector. She entered her sleeping chambers alone and cried herself to sleep.

 ~~~

Their relationship was strained from that moment on, and Jessamine found herself growing more distraught by the day. It does not help that her father’s health continued to fail, and Jessamine found herself spending increasing amounts of her time at his bed side, Corvo a brooding shadow in the corner. To some extent the parliament was forgiving about the fact that she was neglecting them, but there were murmurs that she is too emotional, unfit for rule as she cannot keep her mind on matters of state in this crisis, an accusation that would not be levelled against a male counterpart.  

Before, she could confide in Corvo, but he was as terse with her now as he was with everyone else. He was unerring in his protection—a servant was caught by Corvo trying to slip something into the emperor’s food, a remedy he claimed, but nonetheless Corvo stopped him—but Corvo no longer clapped a firm hand on the shoulder of a particularly aggressive minister or bothered to play interference against a particularly odorous parliamentarian.

He averted his eyes whenever she found quiet corners to cry in, but he no longer dried her tears.

Then her father died. The funeral was scheduled in two weeks, the coronation in a month. She found herself sitting at a writing desk, trying to write a eulogy. There was nothing but ink blots on her paper as tears dripped from her face.

She wiped the tears from her face, taking a slow, shaking breath, then turned to Corvo who was seated at a chair near the door.

“Corvo, I will have to dismiss you before the coronation.”

Corvo stopped idly staring out the window, his gaze snapping to meet Jessamine’s. “I beg your pardon, m’lady?”

“As you should,” Jessamine bit out bitterly, “But that’s neither here nor there. I will begin a new search for a Lord Protector as soon as possible, and then you will be dismissed, preferably before the coronation.”

“Why? Have I not been doing my job? Have I not been diligent in protecting you?” Corvo asked, then belatedly added, “M’lady.”

“You’ve been sufficiently diligent in protecting me from physical threats and danger, but that is not the sole duty of a Lord Protector,” she gulped, remembering words her father once shared. “A Lord Protector must be one’s closest confidante. Someone whom one can trust in confide in, can ask advice of. Someone who can dry your tears.”

Jessamine swiped a hand across her face to make her point.

There was a look of panic on Corvo’s face, his eyes darting frantically, from Jessamine’s face, to his hands, to the floor, then back again.

“It is unorthodox to search for another Lord Protector at this stage—“

“Highly unorthodox.”

Jessamine stood up, chair scraping as she pushed it aside. “Do _not_ interrupt me.”

There was a moment when she thought Corvo would stand too, before he cast his eyes down, whispering plaintively, “I’m sorry, m’lady. I just am sworn to protect you and—“

“And you’re not.”

“I don’t think anyone else would do a sufficient job of insuring your safety.”

“I think many other people would be quite capable of ignoring me and saying less than four words to me over the course of a day, however.”

Corvo _was_ standing now, his voice raised, “No one will love you like I do!”

Jessamine stood, mouth agape at Corvo’s revelation. “What did you say?”

“I said I love you.” Corvo stated, striding towards her.

“That’s what I thought you said.” She kissed him then, and it was not chaste. He pulled her towards him, their bodies flush against each other before they pulled away, breath coming in gasps.  

Jessamine locked eyes with Corvo. “If we do this, you cannot start ignoring me again after we start. You cannot just be as cold to me again as you have been.”

“And you should promise me you won’t just throw me away if this ends,” Corvo replied.

“I could never throw you away.”

“You say that now, but you’ve seen enough of court to know that’s not true. You know what can be done to a royal consort, and I will not even have the privilege of being that.”

“You will have the privilege of being my Lord Protector.”

Corvo swallowed, a bitter smile spreading over his face. “A moment ago you didn’t want me to be that.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“This won’t be easy,” Corvo whispered.

“Easier than what I’ve gone through the past 6 months.” She breathed, then rolled her eyes. “I’m naïve. I don’t care.”

“I _have_ been behaving like a fool.” Corvo replied, “If you’re naïve, then I’m just stupid. You were right. I was not living up to my title, I was not doing my duty.”

Corvo grabbed her hand, clasped it and pressed it to her heart.

“I will serve you now, no matter what. My life is forfeit, regardless of where this goes.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jessamine replied and kissed him again.

He could be so pompous sometimes.

 

 


End file.
